


Moving Onward

by helenlath



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Gen, Post episode 1011 January 21st 2020 "I might move to Cornwall and grow marrows."
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenlath/pseuds/helenlath
Summary: When Serena Campbell,  consultant vascular surgeon, left her job at Holby City Hospital, she decided that it was time for an adventure. Grieving  the death of her lover while still in mourning for her daughter, tired of the underfunding of the NHS and the political manouverings of hospital management she decides to take some time off tho "grow marrows in Cornwall.Our story begins six months hence; the time has come to leave her temporary retreat in Cornwall and  return to the real world, which poses the question of what she should do next. The choice she makes leads to - well, read and find out.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 26
Kudos: 99





	1. A New Normal

**Author's Note:**

> During the course of writing this story, Covid-19 has swept the country and led to the current restrictions Since the story begins at the end of June 2020 I have therefore thrown in some references to the pandemic, without really knowing the sitiation will play out, so please forgive any inaccuracies. When I began to write in March everything was speculative.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Serena walked out of Holby City for the last time in January she Knew that had to take another six months sabbatical, as did after Elinor's death. Time alone in the South of France gave her the space to grieve and to come to some sort of acceptance of a life without her daughter.   
> The fraught events of the last few weeks, the emptiness and anger, the depths to which she is spiralling, are threatening to engulf her. In a moment of clarity she recognises her needs to be kind to herself, to give herself the gift of time in which to come to terms with Bernie's death too.

Cornwall in early June is heartachingly beautiful. The scent of sea-thyme drifts in on the westerly breeze; the verges of the ancient lanes are dotted with primroses while early summer roses ramble around cottage doorways.  
Serena’s own cottage, the one she has been renting for the past six months, sits at the end of one such deep-cut lane, hidden from view until one is directly at the wooden gate which hangs lopsidedly upon its hinges. The rear of the cottage faces the cliff top and its view of the English Channel. The cottage lies two miles away from the nearest village as the crow flies, five miles by road, which has suited Serena well. When she walked out of Holby City Hospital in January she craved solitude. So much so that when the coronavirus Covid-19 reached Cornwall during the spring she suppressed her instinct, which was to offer her services to the West Cornwall hospital, instead revelling in the fact that the national lockdown gave credence to her self imposed isolation. "Physician,heal thyself," came to mind. How could she mend others while she herself was broken?  
While in Cornwall she has read dozens of novels, a thing she never found time to do while working as a senior consultant. She has read Bernie’s diary over and over again until she knows it by heart; she has become acquainted with a younger Bernie, read the thoughts, of the joys and the fears of the Bernie who was, before she entered Serena’s life. The passion with which Bernie wrote about Kenya, her love of the African continent and her commitment to her work there is a comfort. Bernie died doing what she did and loved best.  
Serena has written a memoir of her own career up to this point. “My life in Surgery” is now with an agent. Writing about the difficulties juggling career and motherhood, and her breakdown after Elinor’s death was painful yet cathartic.  
Long, solitary walks across the cliffs and tending the cottage garden have given her face and arms a healthy glow. She has lost weight too, though her body will always be curvaceous, never as toned as Bernie’s, she feels good, fitter. This peaceful, healthy life has dulled her taste for Shiraz and her alcohol intake is reduced to the occasional drink in the pub with the handful of acquaintances she has made locally.  
By June she is mended. The rate of infection across the country has slowed down dramatically and life is slowly beginning to return to normal. It is time for Serena to return too. The six months lease on the cottage will soon be coming to an end. The decision has to be made. Whether to return to her own home in the leafy suburbs of Holby, currently rented on a short term lease to a young junior doctor and his family, or whether to make Cornwall her permanent home. Or indeed to move onwards, elsewhere. Life after Lockdown will never be quite the same. There will be "new normal," so the country is told. So also a "new normal" without Holby City Hospital and without Bernie will evolve for Serena Wendy Campbell. 


	2. A New Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena has been living a secluded life in Cornwall, partly through choice, partly through Government restrictions. As the Lockdown is eased and the travel ban lifted, Serena reluctantly realises that it is time for her to say goodbye to her Cornish hideaway.

Upon opening the curtains next morning Serena is greeted by storm tossed clouds billowing in from the Atlantic. The Cornish weather is notoriously changeable. The cottage feels chilly enough to light the wood burner. Without the sun fingering through the window the living room is dark and Serena is cheered as much by the orange glow of the burning logs as by the heat they emit. The sound of claws scraping glass and a pitiful meow alert her to the presence of Tom, one of the local farm cats who has adopted Serena as his temporary carer. “Come on in out of the rain,” Serena says fondly, opening the kitchen door. She never thought she would be fond of a cat.  
After breakfast, since it is too wet to walk, or garden, she switches on the standard lamp behind her favourite armchair and settles down to read, Tom purring on her knees. She is reading Trollope and for some reason, this morning, she finds herself unable to concentrate on the text. Sighing, she puts down the book and picks up Bernie’s diary for the umpteenth time. It falls open at an entry describing a journey across the sunbaked plains of central Kenya and her delight at coming across a lioness and her young sunbathing just metres from the highway. She strokes Tom absent mindedly. She hopes this storm is just a blip in the weather map, not the end of the warm spell. Perhaps she should have followed up Alex Dawson’s suggestion of a job in Nairobi.  
By lunch time the south westerly winds have blown the storm away, up and across towards Devon and Dorset. The sun appears again in a watery sky. Serena puts Tom outside, much to his disgust, pulls on wellingtons and sets off across the cliffs. She will miss this walk and its views but she knows, deep down, that she can’t stay here, cocooned from the world, living her life as a semi-recluse. She should have returned to Holby several weeks ago but the Lockdown imposed by the Government to prevent the spread of Covid-19 kept her in Cprnwall. Now life is returning to normal and she is free to travel back to Holby. She hasn’t yet claimed her pension, it’s too soon. Instead she has been living on her savings and they won’t last forever. The sensible thing would be to go back to her leafy detached in the suburbs of Holby and put out feelers amongst her medical contacts. She sighs. Though she has come to terms with Bernie's absence from her life, the thought of her house without the possibility of Bernie in it brings a lump to her throat.  
There is no phone signal out here on the cliffs, no 4G either, so she is quite out of contact for the duration of her walk, which she likes. She finds walking helps her to think, straighten out her mind, consider her options. As she walks through the door of the cottage fifty windblown minutes later her phone pings into life. An email, from Linda, her agent. Hi, Serena, we’ve got a deal. Publication the end of October. Very soon, but they want it in the shops for Christmas.  
There are two texts too. One from Alex Dawson. How strange. Hi Serena. How are you doing? Have you thought about what I said regarding that job in Nairobi?  
The second text is from her nephew, Jason. Auntie Serena, when are you coming home? We need you.  
Tom has seen her arrive home and is back on the window sill, meowing. She opens the door and picks him up. “I think you must go back to the farm, Tom cat, she tells him. “It seems that I am needed elsewhere.”


	3. Journeying Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena is leaving Cornwall where she has spent six months coming to terms with Bernie's death and taking stock of her career so far, and where she will go next. She takes a new friend back to Holby with her. En route she stops for an appointment which could decideher future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thankyou for your kind comments. It's taken a while for me to write and post this next chapter as I've been away for a few days.  
> I don't know what Serena will decide. Any pointers would be welcome.

Clouds scud across a blue sky, an Atlantic breeze stirs the marram grass as Serena piles her luggage into the car boot. Tom the cat rounds a corner of the cottage and meows pitifully.  
“Oh Tom, that’s enough of that. It’s been a great pleasure knowing you, but I’m afraid that I really have to leave.” He leaps through the open door of the car and circles on the back seat before curling into a ball. Serena gently lifts him and places him on the gravel of what passes for a driveway. He rubs himself against her legs, tail in the air, in an attempt to imprint his scent indelibly on her. In a moment of weakness she picks him up and buries her face in his soft flank. At that moment Mr Braund of Whiteoak Farm, from whom she has been renting the cottage, appears in the lane.  
“Seems that old tom’s taken a liking to you. We’ve hardly seen him these past few weeks. Fickle creatures are cats.”  
“I’ll miss him. He has been good company.”  
“Take him with you!”  
“Do you mean that?”  
“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. There are dozens of cats on the farm. Some earn their keep, hunting down the rats and mice in the barn, others, like this old tom here are just free-loaders. You take him if you want him.”  
“Thankyou Mr Braund. Tom, did you hear that, you are coming with me!”

So it is, with the luggage safely stowed and Tom secure in an old fishing basket courtesy of Mr Braund’s son, Serena and Tom set off away from the coast towards the A30. It is a lengthy journey along the spine of Cornwall, across the wilderness of Bodmin Moor, through Launceston and Okehampton and it is lunchtime by the time she enters Exeter. Her Satnav guides her to the barracks where she is due to meet Alex.  
She is stopped briefly at the barrier by a duty guard who looks as though he should still be in school; states her business and given the go ahead to drive through to the visitors’ carpark. Once parked she texts Alex to announce her arrival. Now she is here, she feels somewhat apprehensive. She has spent six months adapting to and becoming comfortable with Bernie’s death. Will meeting Alex again, the other woman in Bernie’s life, the woman who knew an aspect of Bernie unknown to Serena, open old wounds, pick at the scabs of healing, start the hurt all over again. She is just about to turn the key in the ignition and drive off when Alex comes running across the tarmac, arm waving in the air.  
Reluctantly Serena gets out of the car.  
“Good to see you.” Alex makes as though to hug her, then remembers that it is not yet acceptable. “What time are you seeing the major?”  
“Two forty five.” Alex looks at her watch.”We’ve got time for lunch. I can take you into the Officers’ Mess as my guest.”  
Serena is at the barracks, headquarters of the 243 Field Army Hospital to follow up the suggestion which Alex made six months previously. The 243 Wessex Field Hospital is part of the Army Reserve Medical Services, providing medical support to UK Armed Forces around the world. Alex is currently here in a training capacity. She will eventually return to her unit which is deployed in a training capacity to the Kenyan Army. The British Field Hospital in Nairobi is recruiting civilian staff, consultants and clinical leads. Alex is encouraging Serena to apply, and has set up a meeting between Serena and the Major in charge of recruitment. “The Major” , she, Raf and Fletch affectionately gave to Bernie in her early days at Holby when she strutted around barking commands as though she were in the field.  
The two women make awkward small talk while they wait for the food to arrive. Serena orders a small glass of Shiraz, conscious that she has to drive later. Swirling the stem of the glass between her fingers gives her something to focus on, at the same time providing the relaxant she needs coursing through her veins. “Only the one glass though,” she remarks to Alex, asking for a jug of tap water as well.  
“Tell me, Serena, how are you, and what have you been doing since I saw you last?” So Serena tells Alex about the writing, the book, all the reading she has done, the knitting, the walking; tells her about Maisie Fairfax who befriended her, pointed out cliff top walks and dragged her along to village coffee mornings and introduced her to the local darts team before such gatherings were banned.  
“I ‘m rather good at darts, actually,” Serena says proudly.  
“It’s those surgeon’s hands,” Alex tells her, lifting Serena’s right hand briefly off the table top. Serena remembers the first time Bernie held her hand, that ridiculous arm wrestling competition to decide who should attend to a rather insalubrious case. It is with surprise that she realises the memory is bringing a smile rather than tears.  
“Then there were the Braunds,” Serena continues. “They ran the farm nearby, owned the cottage I rented. One of their farm cats decided that my sofa was a more comfortable berth than the barn. He eventually spent so much time with me, that I’ve brought him with me. He is in a box in the car. I’ve never had a pet before.”  
“Oh, sweet,” Alex says. “Bernie had a cat in Basra.”  
“Did she? She never said. There is no mention in her diary.”  
“I say ‘had a cat’ but that’s somewhat exaggerated. He was a stray, thin as a rake and mangy. Bernie used to feed him scraps and let him into the tent. She had to leave him to fend for himself of course when we moved on. He was used to it I expect, a real street cat who took what he could.”  
Again, Serena smiles at the thought of Bernie feeding a stray moggie. Perhaps, if she hadn’t been taken away from the world so prematurely they could have ended up as two old ladies living contentedly with their cats.  
Tomato and basil soup, followed by perfectly cooked sea bass, the Shiraz, and the company of Alex have joined to leave Serena feeling quite mellow. The feelings of resentment and jealously she once harboured towards the other woman in Bernie’s life have dissipated. There really isn’t much point in storing up resentment, she realises that now, though it has taken her a while. It will bring neither Ellie nor Bernie back. She looks at her watch.  
“Right Alex, I had better go and see this Major of yours. Thankyou for lunch. I’m not saying I will take up a job in Nairobi, mind. This is just an exploratory chat. Since was passing Exeter anyway I thought it worthwhile asking for an appointment with him. I have other ideas too.”  
Alex nods. “I know,” she says slowly. “I won’t pester you. Though if you did decide to do it, I would be so pleased to have you there.”


	4. The Ties that Bind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena arrives back in Holby after her six month sabbatical in Cornwall. What is next on her agenda? She is toying with the idea of going abroad, but what of her responsibilities in Holby?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks,  
> I appreciate your kind comments on the first three Chapters. This is a work which is gradually evolving. I genuinely don't know what Serena is going to do next. 
> 
> I am writing this on Friday March 20th, the day when cafes, pubs and restaurants must close. Therefore, since I am setting this story in June, some three months hence, I feel that I must include some reference to Covid19 in the narrative. I hope it works.

It is early evening by the time Serena reaches the outskirts of Holby. By now, Tom is protesting loudly at his incarceration.  
“We’ll be home very soon,” Serena reassures him.  
The route from the M5 to her home on the north side of Holby takes her through the city centre and across the river. The usually crowded waterfront is surprisingly quiet for a summer’s evening. This is where the young of Holby congregate and a normal summer’s evening would see groups spilling out of the bars onto the cobbled quayside. This evening there are only a handful of drinkers leaning over the railings which line the river bank, staring pensively into the water, pint glasses in hand. She turns off the bridge and drives along the river road, noticing that many of the restaurants are closed. Serena is momentarily puzzled by this before realising that what she is seeing is the reality of the Covid19 virus. She has read and heard the news, and felt for those enduring confinement in cramped city flats, but living in such a sparsely populated county she has been largely sheltered from its impact. As she looks down on the city she can pick out the lights of Holby City Hospital. She wonders how her ex colleagues have coped.  
It is with a sense of trepidation that she pulls up in her driveway. The house seems forlorn. She puts her key in the lock and pushes open the front door. The house is too still; even the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall has ceased. The letting agency organised a professional clean after the tenants left and an unfamiliar sterile the scent of pine lingers. Before she left for Cornwall she packed away precious ornaments and books, leaving the rooms naked. Even though it is June Serena switches on the central heating for comfort and frees the protesting Tom from his carrier. He creeps around his new surroundings cautiously. Serena has brought with her a tray and bag of litter. She shows Tom his new toileting facilities and hopes that he will understand.  
“It’s just for a day or two,” she tells him, “until you are used to living here, then you can go outside.” She has heard that putting butter on a cat’s paws will prevent them from straying from a new home. She will try it, it can’t do any harm. She hopes that Tom adapts to urban life.  
Over supper she reads the literature given her by Major Gordon, and goes over their earlier conversation. Kenya has been one of the last countries to be infected by Covid19. The small number of cases are concentrated in Nairobi. Kenyan health officials are expecting the same pattern to emerge as in Asian and European cities. The British Army has erected a Field Hospital on the outskirts of Nairobi which will be utilised in the event of widespread infection. Thus the recruitment for staff at the main British Army Medical Centre which Alex first mentioned way back in January has switched focus. The need right now is for doctors and nursing staff to run the new field hospital.  
“Our staff will be working closely with the Kenyan government,” the Major told  
her. “Their skills will be at the forefront of the fight against the epidemic in Kenya.”  
“I’m a surgeon, not an infectious disease specialist.”  
“In situations like this, it is all hands on deck. You will be on the front line of Kenya’s fight against this disease.”  
Put that way, how can she refuse? She has stayed on the sidelines while her colleagues have put their lives at risk caring for corona sufferers, often with in adequate protective clothing. Bernie would have been amongst the first to be there, fighting. More than that, wouldn’t she just have loved being on the front line. She can't rid herself of the feeling that she should have done more herself. "Well here's your chance," says the voice in her head. "It's not too late. Now you are well again you can go and help in Kenya." Tom jumps up onto her lap and begins to purr. She strokes his silky coat. “ It's a silly idea, I couldn’t leave you, could I?” she croons, “to uproot you and then abandon you would be wicked. Besides, I’ve got to visit Jason tomorrow, to find out why he and Greta need me!”  
#  
“Auntie Serena, you are back!”  
“Yes Jason, I am back. We need to talk. You said in your text that you need me. Why?”  
She and Jason have met in Costa, just around the corner from the hospital. It is Jason’s lunch break. It is too soon for her to venture into Pulses, the hospital coffee shop.  
“Greta won’t let me into the flat. She is too frightened that I will infect her and Guinevere with this covid19 virus, even though I have promised to shower and change as soon as I come home. She wants me to stop working as a porter, but I can’t. I am a key worker. It would be wrong to hand in my notice when I am needed wouldn’t it Auntie Serena?”  
Serena agrees. “I’m proud of you for doing the right thing, Jason, it can’t be easy, and though where on earth are you living if not with Greta?”  
“With Mike.” She remembers Mike, one of the porters involved in the protest which led to her leaving Holby. A pleasant young man. “It’s alright, we get on very well,” Jason continues, “but I miss Greta and Guinevere.” He sounds like a little, lost boy and her heart goes out to him. “Can you speak to her, Auntie Serena, please? You’re a doctor, she’ll listen to you.”  
“I’m not so sure Jason, Greta can be very stubborn. I will do my best. She must be feeling very anxious, poor girl, and finding it very hard caring for Guinevere alone.” She’ll need me, Serena thinks with no small amount of pleasure. So does Jason. “Would you like to come and live with me again, now that I am home?” she asks him hopefully. It would be nice to have someone else living in the house again. Jason frowns.  
“That’s very nice of you to ask, Auntie Serena, but if you don’t mind, I’ll stay with Mike. We watch World’s Strongest Man and Countdown together.”  
“Oh, I see.” Serena tries not to feel hurt. It’s natural that he should prefer sharing with another young man rather than his middle aged aunt.  
The alarm on Jason’s watch bleeps. He switches it off and jumps up from his seat.  
“It’s time for me to go Auntie Serena. Thankyou for talking to Greta.”  
He didn’t ask me how I am, she thinks, ruefully.  
#  
Her next call is Greta’s first floor flat in one of the recently redeveloped areas of the city. Serena rings the doorbell of Flat 3B. Greta’s voice crackles over the intercom.  
“Who is it?”  
“Hello Greta, it’s me, Serena. May I come up?”  
“We are self-isolating.”  
“That is very sensible of you, Greta. How is Guinevere?”  
“She is well, thankyou.”  
“I’d love to see her. And you too, Greta. But I know that we must be very careful of spreading this virus. I won’t come in if you don’t want me to. May I facetime you when I get home? ” Who would have thought it of her, casually asking to facetime. Ellie would be proud of her!  
“Alright.” Greta’s voice is clipped. That’s enough for now, Serena tells herself, mustn’t push for too much.  
#  
Serena manages to catch Greta before Guinevere’s bedtime. Her great niece is delightful. Greta looks well. Serena compliments her on how well they both look, and how well Greta is coping with motherhood.  
“It can’t be easy with the nurseries closed and without Jason around?”  
“We manage.”  
“I also thought that you and Jason were such a good team,” Serena persists, “that you understood one another so well.”  
“We still do,” Greta tells her firmly. “That is why he is living with Mike at the moment. The hospital is such a dangerous place. He could bring the infection into the flat.”  
“I would have thought,” Serena says gently, “that a hospital would be quite a safe place. After all, the staff know to follow the strictest regimes regarding hygiene. More so than the general public. Greta, wouldn’t you like to have Jason returning home again each evening to help bath Guinevere. Wouldn’t you like to eat dinner with him again, watch TV.”  
“I would, but it’s too risky.” Greta lists all the statistics she knows. Serena sighs. She isn’t going to change Greta’s mind instantly. In any case, it isn’t her battle.


	5. When Plans Dovetail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will a solution to Jason' s problem prove to be a catalyst for Serena's next move?

“Poor Greta,” Serena says to Tom. He greets her return with a mew, runs up the hallway and wraps himself around her legs. “She really is in an anxious state, poor girl. I’ll have to facetime her, or zoom or skype, whatever she prefers.”  
“Google Hangouts” Greta replies to Serena’s text. “If you have a gmail account it’s very easy.”  
Serena finds Greta’s instructions precise and easy to follow and so the following day sits down to speak to Greta face to face or at least screen to screen. The girl looks tired and Serena’s heart goes out to her, remembering the exhausting days of parenting a toddler. She feels so guilty for having absconded. Guinevere, however, seems perfectly rested and is full of life, chattering away and holding up succession of toys for Serena to see.  
“Greta,” Serena begins gently.”How long have you and Jason been living apart?  
“Monday March 23rd,” Greta replies. “Since Mr Johnson ordered us all to stay at home. Jason was on late shift. He stayed at the hospital. I couldn’t have him coming and going to and from the hospital with no proper protective clothing.”  
“That was a very wise decision Greta. It can’t have been easy. Though the lockdown is over now. The peak is over. Cases of infection are falling .We can all begin to get back to normal life, so long as we wash our hands regularly, which I Know you do.”  
“You have no idea what it’ been like, Serena. You have been safe in the country. It’s been horrible in the cities. I’ve seen people ignoring the two metre rule. Neighbours just popping out to the shops for one or two things instead of waiting until they do their weekly shop. How do I know that they are washing their hand properly if they can’t obey the other rules?”  
Serena feels suitably chastised. She knows she had it easy. She heard the government requests for retired doctors to volunteer their service during the worst of the epidemic. Normally she would have been first in the queue to help. But the Serena who had lived in Cornwall was a different Serena, a broken Serena and she knew that she had to mend herself before she could mend others. Since she has to constantly reassure herself of this how much more difficult it must be for others to understand.   
“I’m sorry Greta, I understand how difficult it’s been for you.” "Do you?" Greta begins to quote statistics, the numbers of confirmed cases, fatalities, age demographics and future projections. “The experts expect the infection rate to peak again in August,” she concludes. “The flat is so small I could not keep Jason and Guinevere apart, and I have to keep Guinevere safe.”  
Serena likes to fix things, it’s in her nature. Rattling around in her four bedroomed detached suburban house she plans how she could accommodate Jason, Greta and Serena. The solution is obvious; they need space; she has more space than she needs. She has her ensuite bathroom. Jason and Greta could have the guest room, which also has its own ensuite shower room. Guinevere could go into the smallest room. If necessary Jason could self isolate in bedroom number four and use the family bathroom. Perfect.  
Unfortunately, when she put the idea to Greta she met with resistance. "It wouldn’t be our home,” was her immediate response. Today, Serena has a slightly different proposition, one that dovetails with her own tentative plans. Professional Serena has risen to the surface, taken the bait. While the world was battling this furiously spreading virus, she was cocooned in her Cornish cottage, turning a deaf ear and blind eye to this unprecedented global tsunami. Serena Campbell must now do her bit. She is ready to return to action. The fact that she can, at the same time, fix Jason's problem is a bonus. She has met Jason in Pulses, the hospital coffee shop. She had to steel herself to meet Jason there, for how many times has she there met Bernie, brushed hands, caught her gaze? “It is very kind of you to suggest us moving in with you, Auntie Serena,” Jason says politely but firmly as soon as he arrives, "but I either move back into our own home or stay with Mike." "I understand." "Good. It has been very difficult at Holby City while you have been away," Jason continues, “Doctors working around the clock, nurses becoming sick, there haven’t been nearly enough beds in ICU. They built an emergency hospital out of town near the industrial estate. Did you know?”  
"I heard about it on the news. Jason please listen to me. If I weren’t in my house would you consider living there?" Jason is puzzled. /> “I don't understand."/> She explains clearly. “If I were to leave the house empty again, instead of renting it out, you and Greta could live there, treat it as your own home without having me around to interfere.”  
“Where are you going?” He is wary.  
" I may go to work in Nairobi". “Nairobi! Why? You wouldn’t go when Bernie worked there.”  
“No, I wouldn’t. I should have done. I haven't helped to fight this virus either. Perhaps this is my chance to make amends for both omissions. How does Greta feel about cats, by the way?”  
“I’m not sure, why do you ask?”  
"There is a condition to living in my house. You would have to look after Tom, my cat. I brought him with me from Cornwall. He’s settling in very well. I couldn’t bear to send him off to another home.”  
Serena stands up to take her leave, reaches out a hand to pat his shoulder, but stops, remembering that she should be keeping her distance. Living alone for so long means that social distancing hasn’t yet become ingrained.  
Leaving Pulses she takes a short cut through the hospital memorial garden, lingering at the spot where Cam scattered Bernie’s ashes. There’s nothing to see now, just brown earth, all that was left of Bernie has been caught up and carried away on a breeze, drifting now who knows where?


	6. Chance Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena has made the decision to go to Nairobi. Meanwhile while signing copies of her book an unexpected encounter throws up surprises.

Serena shakes her right hand to ease the ache in her wrist. The time is one forty five. She has been signing copies of her book, “My life in Surgery” since shortly after nine. To Wendy (or Colin or Mavis) with best wishes, Serena Campbell, the final l continued beneath her name as a flourish. Her publishers brought forward the publication date in order to be prepared when the lock-down, imposed because of Covid-19, was lifted and the general public, starved of their favourite pastime, flocked to the shops once more. Rygates, the small independent book shop near the hospital, immediately booked her for a book signing. Serena stifles a yawn, thankful that Rygates observes that quaint old fashioned custom of closing for lunch.  
“Good morning, thankyou for buying,” she says graciously to a middle aged man next in line. As she looks up to hand him his copy she notices a young woman with corn coloured hair pulled into an untidy ponytail leafing through a copy of Serena’s book, which is one of several on display on a central table. She has her back turned towards Serena; there is something familiar in the way she holds herself.  
Serena’s head is bent, signing the last book of the morning.  
“You are just in time. We will be closing for lunch in five minutes. If you would like to take it over to Miss Cambell to sign.”  
“It’s alright, I won’t bother having it signed.”  
“You may as well. Look, she is free. You will be the last signing of the morning.”  
Serena looks up just as the girl turns to leave and their eyes meet. It is Charlotte.  
#  
“Charlotte,” Serena cries out in surprise, “please let me sign.” Charlotte walks over reluctantly and hands over the book. Serena turns to the blank front page and sits, pen poised, deliberating. What on earth can she write to the daughter of the woman she loved –no, still loves – so dearly.  
How are you?” she asks Charlotte, stalling for time.  
“Alright thanks,” Charlotte replies stiffly. “I didn’t realise you were here.”  
“There is a poster on the door,” Serena points out.  
“I didn’t see it. I just saw your book in the window and thought that maybe, oh it doesn’t matter.”  
“You thought maybe what?” Serena asks gently looking up at Charlotte. Although Charlotte’s eyes are blue, probably inherited from her father, Marcus, they show the same hesitancy as her mother’s often did.  
“It’s stupid, but I wanted to see what you wrote about your time in AAU, I thought it might help me to, oh, I don’t know what I hoped to read.”  
“You thought it might bring back your Mum in some way?”  
“I suppose so.”  
“After Elinor died I found myself stalking her friends on Facebook, as though I might find some trace of her there.” She puts her hand over Charlotte’s.  
“Charlotte, I it was difficult for you, finding out about me and your Mum, and I know you found it difficult to accept me, but for her sake, could we be friends now? I’m hungry, I’m going round the corner to a little Italian cafe for lunch. Would you join me please?” She hopes that her voice doesn’t sound too needy.  
#  
Once they are focused on eating tagliatelli, they both relax and the conversation becomes easier. Serena is perturbed to learn that Cameron has left Holby City.  
“But why, when he was doing so well? Jason hasn’t said anything to me about it.”  
“I think that Jason might have been part of the problem. Not the whole problem, but Cam was working with another Doctor who he felt was constantly belittling him, then he got stuck in a lift with Jason and a seriously ill patient and had a bit of a meltdown." "I remember," Serena recalls. "That was before I left. Cameron had to carry out a tracheotomy. I wasn't aware of any repercussions. There must have been something else." "The Doctor who Cam claimed was bullying him was killed in an accident. A road accident. It affected Cam badly. I honestly don’t know the full story. You know Cam, he’s like Mum, bottles his feelings up until the pressure is too much and everything explodes.”  
"Do you the name of the Doctor who was killed?" Serena asks urgently. "A foreign sounding name. Jav, Xav? Something like that." "Xavier?" Serena can't believe it. "Dr. Duval, Xavier Duval." How many more young lives must she see prematurely extinguished? Poor Donna. Poor Cam. What a tragedy. “Where is Cam? What’s he doing?” Guilt washes over Serena. She knew he was fragile, she should never have abandoned him so soon.  
“There were major cutbacks made at Holby City after you left. A number of junior doctors were redeployed. Cameron volunteered to go to the Nightingale Hospital in London during the pandemic. Now that it’s under control he’s at a teaching hospital in Kent.”  
“I see. Give him my love when you speak to him. On the subject of the pandemic, I have some news. To be honest I feel a tad guilty about being tucked away in Cornwall while the rest of the country suffered. Like Cameron, I was on the way to having something of a meltdown myself. I needed to heal. Now that I have I’m going to do my bit, in Nairobi. I fly out at the weekend.”  
“Goodness. How did that come about?” Serena stalls. She and Charlotte have been getting along so well, she can’t risk alienating her by bringing Alex Dawson into the conversation. Instead she fudges the issue, saying,  
“I replied to an advertisement in The Lancet. Stopped off for an interview on the way back from Cornwall. I’m going to the British Army Field Hospital in Nairobi to help the Kenyan government fight Covid 19. The African continent is about five months behind Europe in terms of the spread of the virus.”  
“The Army Hospital? The same hospital that Mum worked at? Why?””  
“I told you. The opportunity came up. I want to help. It all works out very well. Jason and Greta need more space. They are going to stay in my house while I’m away and look after Tom. My cat. I brought him back with me from Cornwall. It’s all worked out very neatly in fact.”  
“Can I come and see you when you’re out there?” The request takes Serena by surprise. Burying the hatchet deeply enough to have lunch together is one thing, but a visit something other. “I’d like to see where Mum was at her happiest.”  
That hurts. She should have been at her happiest with Serena. “I’m sorry I was so difficult over you and Mum, the funeral arrangements, everything. I was hurt, felt angry on Dad’s behalf, I was jealous also I suppose, I hated the thought of her lavishing the affection I craved on another woman. I loved her so much. I didn’t tell her enough. It was Cam who demanded her attention while I was always self contained, self sufficient. It didn’t mean I never wanted her love.”  
“You always had her love, Charlotte, and yes, of course you can visit me.” Serena  
glances at her watch. “Unfortunately I have to go.” She signals for the waiter to bring the bill. Charlotte reaches for her handbag and takes out her purse. Serena shakes her head.  
“Absolutely not,” she say, “I’m paying. I’m so glad you decided to buy my book Charlotte. I’ve so much enjoyed having lunch with you. I think your Mum would be glad we are friends.”  
As they leave the table Charlotte touches Serena’s arm. “There’s one other thing Serena. I told you that Cam got himself into a state rather. He is also fixed on the idea that because we never saw Mum’s body, it could have been someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm sending Serena off to Nairobi. Cameron's hunch is a bit far fetched isn't it, but who knows where it could take Serena and Charlotte?


	7. New beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena arrives in Nairobi and takes stock of her new surroundings.

Serena is unprepared for the oppressive heat which hits her as soon as she steps off the plane. The smell of hot tarmac, aviation fuel and diesel oil hang thickly in the hot air. The sun burns through her shirt as she walks the short distance to the terminal building. Thankfully this is JoJo Kenyatta International Airport, Nairobi, and inside the air conditioning system is efficient.  
Clearing customs seems to take an age. Her passport and visa are scrutinised by a gun toting official which she finds slightly disconcerting and she has to walk past a heat detecting device camera which will show up on a screen any passenger with an above average body temperature.  
She is finally allowed landside to collect her luggage. The arrival hall is crowded; crowds jostle four deep around the luggage belt. No social distancing in force here, she notes wryly. Serena stands to one side for a while to allow the crowd to thin; she has no bus or train to catch to the centre of Nairobi. She is being met by someone from the army who will drive her to the accommodation which has been arranged.  
Emerging from the arrivals hall into the forecourt of the terminal she meets with a sea of placards, each bearing a name. Eventually she spots her own name, written in black capitals, and pushes her way through the crush to the bearer of the card. It is held aloft by a good-looking army corporal. Serena cannot help but give him a flirtatious grin.  
“Well hello,” she says, “am I glad to see you.”  
“Miss Campbell.”  
“Serena please.”  
“Serena. I’m Lance Corporal Graham.” No first names in the army, remember that, she notes.  
Lance Corporal Graham shoulders her holdall and takes the handle of her wheelie case.  
“The jeep is outside. I’m to take you to your house.” Serena has to break into a trot to keep up with him. When they reach the vehicle he lifts her luggage up into the boot with an easy movement and returns to the front passenger side of the jeep to hand Serena up into the seat.  
“Thankyou,” she says, “that’s quite a climb. He laughs. “You’ll get used to it.” Will I, she wonders, wistfully imagining how easily Bernie with her long legs would have leapt into the cab.  
The periphery road straightens and slices through dusty red desert dotted with stunted trees. After a few kilometres they approach the outskirts of Nairobi.Serena watches with interest as her new environment flashes by: gated villas juxtaposed with concrete tin roofed bungalows; affluent looking residents in either smart western dress or colourful Kenyan costume passing without a glance grubby youngsters who in the dust wearing cheaply made polo shirts and football shorts. Lance Corporal Graham points out the hospital, a long, low concrete building surrounded by an iron fence, opposite what appears to be a paint depot.  
"That is Nairobi General Hospital. It simply doesn't have the facilities to fight coronavirus. The Field Hospital is about five miles out of the city. Ten minutes later they leave behind this microcosm of Kenyan life. They are now in quiet, leafy road lined with small but well built bungalows each set behind a set of tall iron gates. As the jeep slows Lance Corporal Graham reaches down beside the driver’s seat to pick up a remote control which he points at one set of gates.  
“Never get out of your car in the street,” he warns Serena. “Keep the car doors locked, open the gates, drive in and make sure they have closed behind you before you get out.”  
He helps her out of the cab, takes her luggage and bounds up the six steps to the veranda. Before he has time to pull the string of the large bell suspended above the door it is opened by a beaming woman around Serena’s age.  
“Welcome, Miss Campbell,” she says, “Food is prepared, your bed is ready and the water is hot ready for a bath.”  
“This is Almasi, your housekeeper,” Lance Corporal Graham introduces the woman. “She will look after you. There is a small car for your use around the back of the house. You will no doubt want the independence of driving yourself to the hospital, but tomorrow morning I will drive you. I will collect you at seven forty five.”  
He retreats. Serena follows Almasi into the cool of the bungalow. A ceiling fan whirrs overhead. Almasi shows her into a whitewalled room, simply furnished with a bed, chair and a chest of drawers.  
“The bathroom is nest door,” Almasi says. “I’ll leave you to freshen up after your journey. When you are ready,you will find your meal waiting on the veranda.”  
Serena sinks onto the bed. During the journey she was too occupied with the business of flying to give much thought to Jason, Greta and Guinevere. And Tom. Now she thinks of them and they seem so far away – which they are of course. She wonders whether she might just have made an awful mistake.  
#  
Serena sleeps surprisingly well and wakes to the sound of birdsong. It takes her a moment of two to realise where she is. With recognition comes a wave of apprehension as to what the day will bring; a new job, new colleagues, a foreign country, a military hospital and a driver due to pick her up in an hour and a quarter.  
A quick shower, the donning of a pair of cool linen trousers and silk shirt, with the application touch of lipstick, help her feel more like her usual confident self. Almasi has laid out breakfast on the veranda: Mango and pawpaw, hard boiled eggs and what appears to be corn bread sit beneath a white cloth. Almasi appears silently and places a pot of strong black coffee on the table.  
“We usually drink Tchai,” she says, smiling, but I think you perhaps prefer coffee.”  
Serena thanks her. While she breakfasts she surveys her new surroundings. The bungalow is fronted by a small garden. There is a lawn, irrigated by a hosepipe which has had holes pierced at intervals along its length, a small vegetable plot in the corners and what she later learns is a guava tree at the far side. A passion fruit vine trails over the veranda providing shade against the African sun. “The African sun, you’re going to love it!” How many times did Bernie say that? “Well, here I am,” says Serena, standing, “for better or for worse.”  
At that moment the gate slowly open and the British Army jeep pulls into the dusty driveway. Serena picks up her bag, takes a deep breath walks steadily down the steps to be driven to her first day at the British Military Field Hospital, Nairobi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Serena fare in Nairobi?  
> It could be a wonderful experience. She could hate it and rush back to Holby, Jason and Greta.  
> Maybe Charlotte will visit. Cameron too, perhaps.  
> Is Cameron's hunch correct, or just wishful thinking.  
> This story could go anywhere.


	8. A New Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena's settles in to her new post at the military field hospital in Nairobi, dealing with the impact of Covid_19 in Kenya. She is then asked lead a medical team into neighbouring Somalia in order to treat a group of guerilla fighters displaying symptoms of the illness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Holby City is taking a break for now. With the extraordinary events of the last episode and the cliff-hangers we have been left with, I think I can ask you to suspend your disbelief with this next and probably penultimate instalment of Moving Onward

“Ms Campbell, welcome,” the Chief Medical Officer, Major David Peters shakes Serena’s hand warmly. The new state of the art field hospital has been erected on the outskirts of Nairobi . “The infrastructure is based on pressurised air beam domed tents,” Major Peters tells her proudly, “endless configurations of the modules can adapted to suit mission needs. The hospital provides all the departments expected of a permanent trauma hospital as well as the ability to treat victims involved in chemical or biological attacks – which is why we are now doing all we can to assist the Kenyan Government in its fight against the Covid-19 virus.”  
“It looks very impressive I must say.”  
“Wait until you see the inside. Follow me.” Serena follows the Major inside one of the hangar sized domes where the space is partitioned into clinics, operating theatres and wards. Any apprehensions she had been harbouring are quelled by the familiar hospital smells; she is transformed from Serena Campbell, lone traveller in a foreign country into Ms Campbell, Senior Clinical Lead, Vascular Surgeon extraordinaire.  
. "We have five hundred and sixty three patients displaying symptoms of covid-19," the major tells her, "twenty three of whom are on ventilators. " “Show me where to change,” Serena says to the Major, “and then direct me to ICU.”  
#  
Serena works with her usual skill and professionalism, assessing which of the patients most urgently need ventilation, administering fever reducing drugs, directing nurses to those in need of constant observation and reassurance. As well as those already on the wards there is a steady stream of patients awaiting admittance. There are five deaths, and an operation on one man who was brought in suspected of Covid 19-19 but has, in fact, a collapsed lung as a result of trauma. Serena works all day swathed in plastic protective overall, hood and gloves which all have to be changed between patients. At six fifteen in the evening Serena realises that she has not eaten all day. What she would give right now for a Danish pastry from Pulses.  
In the staff room Major Peters is making coffee. He offers her a cup which she receives gratefully.  
“How has your first day been?”  
“Busy. Frantic. You have an excellent team here.”  
“I know.” They sip their coffee in silence. After a while the Major asks,  
“Tell me, what brought you to Nairobi?”  
“I’d taken a sabbatical. It was either return to the familiar in the UK or leap into the unknown. I chose the latter.”  
“Family?” She hesitates before replying, “No. No family to speak of.” She is tired, and she doesn’t know him well enough to explain. She glances at her wristwatch.  
“I must go. I’m being picked up by a handsome lance-corporal. Until tomorrow.”  
He salutes, stirring a bitter sweet memory.  
A week has passed. A week of long, long days, leaving time only for a shower, an evening meal, prepared by Almasi, followed by a deep, dreamless sleep which is broken prematurely by her phone alarm summoning her to another day. There is a stream of patients presenting at the field hospital as the number of Covid-19 cases in Kenya’s capital city increases daily. There is a triage system in place, assessing and identifying those who are able to breathe unaided, those who need to be placed on one of the limited number of ventilators and those for whom, sadly, a ventilator would make little difference to their chances of recovery. It is halfway through the second week that the Chief Medical Army summons her to his office. He gestures for her to take a seat, then swings round his computer screen enabling her to read the message. It is from Colonel John Wakelin, Commander of the British Army Training Camp in Mogadishu. “The Mogadishu base has received a communication from Jilib some time ago requesting medical help. It would appear that there is a rogue group presenting with the virus. Some are seriously ill. Others have dispersed, with the possibility of them taking the infection to Jilib.” Serena raises her eyebrows. “And?” she asks. “The Somalian Base is for training purposes. There is a general medical centre there but it cannot supply the specialist equipment. A battalion from the base will set out As soon as possible to provide security cover and the Colonel has requested that we fly out ventilators and specialist medical staff. We’ve been given a What3Words location.” “What3Words?” “A global location system. The Globe has been covered by a network of squares. Each square has a word ascribed. A combination of three words gives a precise location anywhere in the world.” “That is amazing. My nephew Jason would find it fascinating. Does find it fascinating I expect. He is something of a technology wizard.” She wonders briefly how he Greta and little Guinevere are settling into her house in the suburb. Whether Tom the cat has adjusted to new his carers. She is brought sharply back into the present with the Major’s next words. “So would you fly out with the nursing team, Serena? We are organising a flight leaving at five fifteen this evening. Take the next couple of hours to get home and pack a bag. I’ll contact your driver. Oh, and if I forward the original email could you reply, say help is on its way.” She has done as requested: pack a small bag check; meet with her nursing team check; oversee the loading of the aircraft check; reply to email with eta and details of equipment. This last task she completes while sitting in the off-duty area, ending the email, Serena Campbell, senior clinician, British Army Field Hospital 374, Nairobi. 


	9. Across the Border

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena has begun working at the British Military Field Hospital. built outside Nairobi to treat victims of the Covid-19 virus which is sweeping the African continent. In neighbouring Somalia a group of militant fighters have showing symptoms of the infection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hoped this is what had happened to Bernie Wolfe.

#  
In neighbouring Somalia the fingers of early morning sun reach beneath the door of the hut and across. The English woman gives a cat- like stretch before linking her fingers together and raising them above her head. She examines her wrists with a critical eye, noticing where the bone projects, sharp and angular. Her gaze travels up her arm; her biceps are not as toned as they once were. She does her best to keep fit, forcing her body to execute press-ups and thrust squats in the close confines of the hut.  
She hears the familiar grating of the bolt, the clanking of the key in the lock and swings her legs over the side of the bunk, ready to accept the flatbread and strong coffee which has been her daily breakfast for almost a year. What she would give right now for scrambled eggs and hot buttered toast. She blinks as the door opens and the daylight floods in. Abdullah calls urgently,  
“English lady, come.” She reaches out for her boots and forces her feet inside, picks up her combat jacket and slings it over her shoulder.  
“Where are we going?” Abdullah shrugs.  
"Somewhere far away,” he tells her. “I Jeep waiting.”  
“Don’t I get coffee at least before we go?" she jokes. She hasn't tasted coffee for oh, so long but despite nine months incarceration she is still able to summon up some bravado."Never let them see you are scared,"her father always told her. Abdullah is pretty harmless anyway, probably dragged into this paramilitary organisation unwillingly.  
“I need to pee.”  
“Pee?”  
“Piss.”  
“Okay. I wait.” He goes outside and closes the door while she uses the bucket in the corner of the hut in which she has been confined for three hundred and thirty four days, each one scored into the corner post with a sharp cornered stone gouged from the earthen floor. She has only been alone for the last month. Until then she shared the hut with two Dutch backpackers. She has heard nothing of them since they were called out of the hut early one morning four weeks ago. Abdullah, who guards her, claims not to know where they were taken, what has become of them. She prays that the Dutch government has paid the ransom securing their release for the alternative is too awful to contemplate. She knows though, without a doubt, that the British Government would never give into a ransom demand, not for a civilian, let alone a member of the military captured in the course of duty. She understands. She has prepared herself for the worst; she has stared death in the face so often she has become hardened. She just hopes that whatever method they use it will be mercifully quick. It is the sadness of knowing that she will never again hold her children or lover close which she finds hardest to deal with. With a sigh she pulls her shoulders back, holds her head up high and goes outside.  
The jeep engine is ticking over, Abdullah already in the driver’s seat. She makes for the back.  
“No, English lady, you get in the front with me,” Abdullah insists. When she is in the cab he slips the jeep into gear and pulls away quickly, the wheels kicking up a cloud of red dust.  
“No handcuffs Abdullah? How do you know I won’t escape?”  
He jerks his head towards the back of the jeep. She turns and sees a gun trained upon her.  
“Fair enough,” she says with resigned humour.  
The English woman likes Abdullah. He is in his early twenties, has a wife and baby son. She can see that he bears her no ill will. He is simply obeying instructions to guard the army medic who was picked up by Al-Shabaab after the explosion which wrecked the British Military Field Hospital just outside Mogadishu. The militant Somalian group hand attacked the British base in protest at the help being given to the Somalian army in their fight against Al-Shabaab. The medic now sitting beside Abdullah somehow escaped the worst of the blast. She was suffering from concussion so didn’t put up much of a fight at the time. By the time she came round she was bound and gagged on the floor of the jeep. Once Abdullah and his fellow fighters had manhandled her into the hut to join the two Dutch women, they removed the gag allowing her to let out a long list of expletives. Abdullah’s commander hit her in the face, and rather than cry out she raised her head higher and looked her attacker straight in the eye, something not allowed their religion. Abdullah held his breath until the great man turned on his heels and left, instructing Abdullah to look after the woman, together with the Dutch women picked up on the Kenyan border three weeks previously.  
#  
The jeep bumps over the ruts on the road.  
“You a doctor.” Abdullah says.  
“Yes.”  
“I take you to one of our camps. Very sick people there. They need you.”  
“I’m a surgeon, not a clinician.”  
“You a doctor. You help. You make them better.”  
#After two hours of boneshaking travel they reach a makeshift camp. A low concrete building which once served as a sugar warehouse is ringed by a dozen tents. The jeep squeals to a halt in the red dust. Abdullah jumps from the cab. The woman follows him. Someone, obviously someone in authority, wearing a red keffiyeh on his head and with a semi-automatic rifle slung over his shoulder emerges from one of the tents.  
“We need your skills, " he says abruptly, "We have very sick people here. The disease is spreading. Tell us what we should do Doctor.”  
She thrusts her shoulders back, pulls herself up to her full high.  
“Major,” she corrects him, “I'm a bloody Major.”

Inside one of the tents she finds six men, two of them hardly more than boys, labouring to breathe, sweating profusely. coughing violently. With no stethoscope with which to monitor the lungs, no oxygen, nor temperature reducing drugs, there is little she can do. Why should she help these people anyway, terrorists who have caused so much misery? The voice of reason tells her that if she refuses she will have signed her death warrant. But over and above this is her identity, her allegiance to her profession, the Hippocratic Oath. Whoever these people are, whatever they have done, she is duty bound to help. She never shirks her duty.  
She turns to face the man who has summoned her. He speaks good English. She tells him honestly,  
"These men are very sick.They cannot breathe. I cannot help them without equipment and drugs. Where is the nearest hospital?  
"Jilib."  
"How far away is that?"  
"Three hundred kilometres."  
"They can't travel that far. They'll be dead before they get there."  
T"Then you must treat them here."  
"I've told you that is impossible. I need ventilators to help them breathe, Drugs to reduce the fever." "Goodbye Major Doctor. We need to leave before Government troops arrive. These men too weak to walk. You stay here with them. Abdullah stays with you. And Bashir. No funny business eh? Bashir a crack shot." He yells commands in Arabic and the rest of his guerrilla band emerge, some from the tents, others from the disused warehouse. They leap into jeeps with a barrage of shouts, the engines rev in unison. The wheels spin, leaving behind a dust cloud as the convoy heads deeper into the desert. The Major looks at Abdullah in disbelief. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?" she curses. "I need ventilators and drugs." She sinks to the ground outside the tent which the sick men, holds her head in her hands in despair. Abdullah looks at her helplessly as she sits, arms wrapped around her bent knees, eyes on the horizon. “Dr,” Abdullah said tentatively. “Major!” she mutters, eyes not leaving the horizon. “Major,” he corrects himself. “You read this, please. Very important.” He holds his mobile phone out towards her. She tears her gaze from the horizon and takes the phone, a frown clouding her face as she reads the screen. Abdullah has opened the Daily Nation News App. The headlines are overwhelmingly concerned with the Covid_19 which is sweeping neighbouring Kenya. She clicks the World News button. A few moments scanning the headlines is all it needs to ascertain that while she has been in captivity a global pandemic has emerged. “You know all about this, Abdullah?” He nods. “Then please take your scarf off your head and use it to cover your nose and mouth. Tell Bashir to do the same.” Abdullah obediently unravels his keffiyeh but rather than covering his own mouth, hand it to her. “Please, take.” She is moved by his gesture. “You need more than me,” he insists. As she reads more the seriousness of this virus becomes clear and with it the consequences of the convoy making its way to goodness knows where. "Believe in yourself. Believe." Something else her father told her, words that she has counselled others with before now. With a rush of determination, she jumps to her feet. "Abdullah, tell your colleague to put his gun away. I can't run off can I? Then come with me. Pronto." "Pronto" "Quickly." He follows her to the warehouse. Inside she flicks a light switch experimentally, breathes a sigh of relief when the dark space is illuminated. There is an electricity supply at least. "Abdullah, may I use your phone? I need to get medical equipment, otherwise these men will die." He hands over a Samsung phone. She breathes a sigh of relief to see that it has the Just Three Words app installed. Within a few minutes she has found the British Army Mogadishu Base details and a contact email address. She has enough experience of combat to know that since her status is Missing in Action presumed Dead her email account will have been closed down. Therefore she fires off an email, using Abdullah's contact details though giving her own military ID, requesting immediate aid and their whereabouts. 

With help summoned she assumes authority, issuing instructions regarding the care of the sick fighters. Bashir reluctantly puts down his rifle and makes up beds in some of the empty tents so that the recovering patients can be separated from the severely affected. Abdullah is sent into the empty warehouse to locate water with which to cool down the feverish patients.

When she has done all that is possible to make the men possible all that she can now do is wait and reassure the sick and the dying that they are not alone. It is not until early the following morning that the screen on Abdullah's phone lights up with and email notification. She eagerly opens up the message and scans its contents. Relief floods through her when she reads that a relief unit is leaving. That relief quickly changes to an emotion she finds impossible to put a name to; further to this information notification that the Field Army Hospital in Nairobi has been contacted and will be dispatching a specialist Covid_19 medical team under the leadership of consultant Serena Campbell.


	10. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, our two favourite consultants are re-united.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for kind comments and kudos left on the story so far. I have rewritten the previous couple of chapters very slightly so that the narrative flows more smoothly, so some of you might want to re-read before continuing with the story.

The shock that Serena might, just, be arriving in a little over three hours time makes Bernie nauseous. It is too much to hope that this is her Serena. There could be dozens of Serena Campbells in the medical world, neither name is uncommon. She convinces herself that this can’t possibly be the woman she once called the love of her life. That woman wouldn’t give up her comfortable life in Holby when it really mattered so she wouldn’t do it now, would she? Even so, imagine if it were her Serena who jumped down from the Westland ‘coptor. Imagine if the shock were too much, caused a fatal heart attack. Her imagination goes into overdrive.  
Half an hour of pacing up and down between the tents chewing her finger nails brings her to a decision; she will forewarn this Serena Campbell. She isn’t at liberty to openly disclose her identity, not until she has been formally interviewed by the military. She can, however, respond to this Serena Campbell in such a way that will alert her to the fact that Bernie Wolfe is alive and well.   
Five minutes later her phone pings and a notification of an email from AKhalifa flashes across the screen. She opens the email while walking from the rest area to the Hercules helicopter and it takes an unprecedented level of self control to keep on walking when she reads the opening words, “Hi, Serena Wendy Campbell.”  
Serena stares at the screen in disbelief. She so dislikes her second given name that she never uses it. She revealed it to Bernie early on in their friendship, in commiseration, after Bernie confessed to being Berenice Griselda.

“I love you, Serena Wendy Campbell.” Serena hears the voice as clearly as if it were only yesterday. Bernie quickly adopted Serena’s full name as a term of endearment.  
The email continues in an impersonal tone, confirming the number of patients, and ending Abdullah Khalifa. Serena leans against the side of the helicopter and closes her eyes.  
How ridiculous to hope for the impossible Serena chides her wild thoughts. This Abdullah Khalifa must have looked her up and discovered her full name, somehow. It is impossible that Bernie is responsible for this message. Bernie is dead, her body was repatriated. She, Serena, has the dog tags as proof. She feels through her shirt for the two prewcious tags which she has worn on a chain around her neck since the day Cameron gave them to her. Her thoughts then jump to Cam and Charlotte, and Charlotte's last words,"Cameron has a hunch that it wasn't Mum's body that was repatriated." Poor, deluded boy. Or so she thought at the time. 

Serena straps herself into the seat of the helicopter. It is ridiculous to think that her Bernie is alive and well. Wishful thinking, hoping for the impossible. She imagines stepping down from the helicopter, how it would be to see Bernie, embrace her as she has done so often in her dreams. If this is Bernie, why has she made contact using a pseudonym? Though she cannot for a minute think of a reason she trusts Bernie's judgement, if indeed it is Bernie. Her fingers pick out the letters quickly, lest she lose a connection. "Hello Mr. Khalifa, I trust I am the right sort of animal for the task."  
Bernie hears a phone ping but is too busy to respond. Usman, one of the sick fighters, is labouring to breathe. She has done what she can to assist him, counting with himslowly in and out in an attempt to quell his panic. She fears that without mechanical aid his breathing will soon cease. Abdullah comes into the tent and signals that he will sit with the man. He hands her his phone. "For you I think." Bernie goes outside and looks at the screen. The name Serena Campbell runs across the top. With bated breath she opens the email which is short, simply is she the right sort of animal for the task. No doubt in her mind now that this is indeed her Serena, Bernie sinks to the ground. Those words were amongst the last they exchanged. She replies quickly. "You most undoubtedly are."

Bernie brushes her tangled hair away from her face. Never one for vanities she is now assailed by insecurity. She hasn't looked into a mirror for month but she knows that her hair is wild by examining the ends can tell that her blonde highlights have grown out. She wonders whether her face is weather beaten, or lined even. She has lost muscle tone with the months of inactivity. Will Serena still find her attractive. 

The drone of the helicopter puts a stop to her introspective thoughts. The doctor in her springs into action as she orders Abdullah and Bashir to cover their faces and carry the sickest of the patients into the warehouse on a makeshift stretcher. Satisfied that the man is as comfortable as her can be she stands alone, watching as the Westland gradually looms larger.   
Serena spends the helicopter journey in part imagining her reunion with Bernie, in part reminding herself that it is only supposition that she is alive and well. The facts are all against it. While in the air she has no connection to the internet and so no idea what,if any the response to her email might be. Fortunately the noise of the helicopter precludes any conversation with the rest of her team and so she is left in peace to dream the impossible. As they descend her phone springs into action. With undue haste she checks her inbox to see the words which reassure, "You most undoubtably are.  
Bernie runs across to the 'copter, ducking beneath the still rotating blades. Six medics leap down from the craft. "Am I glad to see you," she exclaims."I've got a seriously ill patient needing ventilation. He is in the building over there." The team spring into action unloading the cargo. "I've also go two tents of patients with pyrexia and dysnea," Bernie calls. "Then we had better assess them." The seventh passenger has emerged and overheard Bernie. She walks slowly towards Bernie. "Hello you," she says, suppressing a tremor in her voice, "Serena Campbell at your service." "Serena." Bernie blinks away tears. If it wasn't for the presence of the Nairobi team together standing in around the helicopter with Abdullah and Bashir she would take Serena in her arms and kiss her. "Bernie." Serena's voice is soft, as it always was when lovingly admonishing Bernie. "I don't know what to say," Bernie whispers. "We can wait until later, darling. Right now we have a job to do. We need to don PPE. It is in the hold." Bernie, uncharacteristically grateful for Serena's leadership, follows her to the back of the helicopter.   
Hundreds of stars gleam in the cloudless sky. Serena and Bernie have toiled side by side, Bseparated by the wearing of the cumbersome protective suits. They have placed on ventilators those finding it difficult to breathe unaided, administered ant-pyrexic and anti-viral drugs. The medical team and those patients well enough to eat have been fed using the standard issue provisions brought by the team. Now it is a waiting game until the patients are well enough to be airlifted to the British base. Freed from the confines of their protective suits Bernie and Serena sit side by side, shoulders touching. "We should be social distancing," Serena says. "We are wearing masks," Bernie retorts. Their eyes meet above the masks. "What I don't understand," Serena says, "Is how Cameron was sent these." She undoes a button of her shirt to reveal, hanging from a chain around her neck and nestled in her cleavage, two identity tags. Bernie turns to face Serena and touches the medals, and Serena's breasts. "When the bomb exploded, I had just come off duty, taken off my body armour. The force of the blast rendered me unconscious. When I came round I was 'cuffed on the floor, in the back of a truck. I had no idea who had taken me. Couldn't bear my captors finding my name and using it a a bargaining tool so I took the tags off." "How?" "My trusty Swiss Army knife. I used the hoofpick to wiggle apart one of the links. Threw the tags out of the window." "Oh Bernie, if you knew how much grief that has caused." "More than if I had been reported as having been taken hostage? Think of the scenarios that might have been conjured up! Anyhow Serena, what on earth are you doing here. You were dead set against Nairobi." "Not dead set," Serena corrects her gently,"It just wasn't the right time, remember?" "And now? What has changed?" "A great deal. I will tell you Bernie, all in good time. Right now I think we should both sleep."She looks at Bernie questioningly. "There is an empty tent. Shall I fetch sleeping bags? The medical team have bedded down inside. There's more than enough space for them to distance themselves." Bernie looks at Serena nervously. "Of course," she continues, "if you would rather spend the night with your colleagues I understand. I'm used to sleeping alone after all." "I think it only right that we two consultants should give our juniors a little space, don't you?" She touches Bernie's lips through the mask. "Though I'm afraid we'll have to keep these on," she says mischievously.


	11. Wherever you go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safely back in Nairobi, Serena and Bernie discuss the future. After all that has happened will they finally agree on what is important ?

It is as though the two years apart never were, so easily do they slip into the familiar rhythm. There is no need for words; each knows instinctively what the other intends in any given moment. They are intubating the seriously ill, monitoring the ventilators and administering medication, yet draped in constrictive protective gowns, faces covered by surgical masks, only their eyes visible, it is as if they are back in the operating theatre in Holby.  
At last there is time to sit, side by side, backs against the sun-baked wall, fingers enclosed in surgical gloves discretely entwined  
“Am I dreaming, Bernie?” Serena asks, lifting her mask to speak.  
“No,” replies Bernie, “This is real. She squeezes Serena’s fingers.  
“I am so sorry,” Serena whispers.  
“What for?”  
“Sending you away. I don’t think that I can bear to let you out of my sight ever again.”  
“Good. Because I don’t want us to be apart ever again.” Bernie blinks back unshed tears. She doesn’t cry, never has. Serena has no such reservations. For her, tears flow easily, an expression of emotion to deep for words. She weeps now, head buried in Bernie’s shoulder. Through her surgical mask Bernie drops a kiss onto Serena’s head and allows her own tears to fall.  
#  
The patients are considered stable enough to be flown under guard to the BFAH in Nairobi and from there to a Kenyan hospital. Bashir has been relieved of his rifle and both he and Abdullah are under guard.  
“I really hope Abdullah and Bashir are treated fairly “Bernie says. “ They were abandoned just as much as I was.”  
“What happens to you? To us?” Serena asks. They have not discussed the future since their mutual confession that neither wants to be parted from the other.  
“Short term I expect I will have to go from Nairobi to the British base in Mogadishu. See an army shrink, tell what I know about the Al-Shabaab group. After that, I don’t know. I never thought I would say this, Serena, but I do believe I have finally tired of Africa.”  
Serena raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Really? I must admit that I am beginning to see what you love about it.”  
#  
The sun is setting over Nairobi, the warm evening air perfumed by jacaranda. At last they are together, away from the curious eyes of army medics, relieved from the responsibilities duty of care, free of the protective masks. Serena and Bernie are sitting on the veranda of Serena’s house, Bernie having been given leave until her appointment with the counsellor in two days time.  
“Serena, did you mean it when you said that you were growing fond of Kenya. Are you planning to stay here?” Bernie asks nervously.  
“I’m planning to do whatever it takes for us to be together.”  
“I want to go home,” Bernie says, plaintively.  
“And so you will, darling.”  
“Can I live with you, in your comfortable suburban detached.”  
Serena shakes her head. “No,” she says gently, “I don’t think that would do at all.”  
Bernie is crestfallen. “Oh.” She says is a small voice.  
“We will be together,” Serena reassures her, but not in Holby. I too have moved on from there, Bernie.”  
“So where will we live?” This is a new Bernie. Bernie usually makes her own plans but right now she is content for Serena to take charge. As an afterthought she asks, “Do I still have my cottage in the country, or have the children sold it?”  
Serena takes Bernie’s hand in hers. “I don’t know, but even so, we both need to start afresh. I came to Kenya to look for you. I found you in a way I never thought possible. When I thought you were dead, I was broken. I went to Cornwall to be healed. You can heal there too, Bernie. I have already renewed the lease. I shall return there and ask for locum work at Falmouth hospital. I want you to come to the cottage too. Take your time deciding what to do next. But whatever you do, wherever you go, I will come with you.”  
She pours two glasses of very acceptable Kenyan red wine and raises her glass.  
“To us, Berenice Griselda Wolfe.” Bernie follows suit.  
“To us, I love you, Wendy Serena Campbell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the ending I always hoped for. Since the Holby writers didn't deliver I wrote my own. I hope you have enjoyed reading it. Thankyou all who left encouraging comments and kudos. It has now been over three months since Serena left Holby City so I think that it is now time to say goodbye to her.   
> While I have been writing the Covid-19 pandemic has developed. Ifelt I had to refernece this in my writing but since the story begins at the end of June, still several weeks away, I have had to guess what the sitiation will be. Please forgive any inaccuracies.   
> If you enjoy my writing I have a blog, Helen Lathbury Writes. My novel, Woven Threads is available on Kindle for 99p. A hard copy is available from Amazon for £4.99. Thankyou, Archivers, Helen Lathbury.


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